Love Conquers War Read online

  His features were clear-cut and he looked, she thought, like many of the handsome men she had noticed since they had entered Bavaria.

  He was wearing the peasant costume that looked strange to her eyes, but at the same time she thought it extremely attractive.

  The leather shorts, the green jacket with bone buttons and on his head a jaunty little green felt hat with a brush at the back of it all made up a most becoming outfit.

  ‘Yes, he is more than good-looking, he is handsome!’ Tilda told herself.

  Then she looked at his companion.

  She was exceedingly pretty.

  Her hair was red, but of such a vivid colour that it was doubtful if it was natural.

  Her eyes were very large and dark-lashed and her lips very red. They were pouting now as she said,

  “It’s no use, Rudolph, I cannot go any further.”

  “But you must having come so far. It’s only a step.”

  “And then another step, and then another – ”

  “Oh, Mitzi, don’t be so faint-hearted,” the man called Rudolph begged. “Besides the exercise will do you good.”

  “I’m tired,” she replied. “I don’t intend to go any higher and who wants to see a lot of old mountains anyway?”

  “You have no soul. That is what is the matter with you.”

  “But plenty of heart!” Mitzi answered.

  “That is true!”

  They were standing still as they argued and now he put his arms around her.

  “You are looking very pretty this morning,” he sighed. “Did I forget to tell you so?”

  “You did and I think it extremely remiss of you.”

  “Well, now I will make up for it,” he answered.

  He pulled her closely against him as he spoke. Then he kissed her.

  Tilda watched them wide-eyed.

  She had never seen a man kiss a woman in just that sort of way, so possessively, so passionately.

  Rudolph was big and broad-shouldered and Mitzi was, in comparison, small and slight.

  He seemed to enfold her, crushing her body against his. Yet there was something very attractive in the way they stood, locked to each other, mouth to mouth.

  It was, although Tilda did not realise it, the eternal symbol of love all down the ages.

  Finally, when it seemed to her as if the kiss would never end, Rudolph raised his head.

  “You excite me you always do excite me, Mitzi! I want you!”

  Mitzi gave a little laugh.

  “What do you expect me to answer to that?”

  “I want you!” he repeated and now there was a deep vibrant note in his voice. “I want you now at this moment and I do not intend to wait!”

  “Here? In the woods? You must be crazy!”

  “Why is it so crazy? Could anything be more delightful, more natural?”

  Again Mitzi laughed, but now he was kissing not her lips but her neck.

  He held her closer still, yet somehow she managed to break free.

  “If you want me, you’ll have to catch me,” she laughed provocatively.

  Then she was running away from him down the side of the hill, zig-zagging between the trees, running with a swiftness that increased as she went.

  “Mitzi! Mitzi!” Rudolph cried.

  Then he was running after her heavily and yet with more grace than might have been expected in such a large man.

  He also ran quicker than she did, or else she slowed her pace, for halfway down the mountain he caught her.

  By craning her head Tilda could still see them.

  Once again he had her in his arms and his mouth was on hers.

  She waited breathlessly to see what would happen next and then a voice a little way below startled her by saying,

  “Your Ladyship, the horses are waiting!”

  Reluctantly Tilda turned her head to see the aide-de- camp, red in the lace from having climbed up the hill to find her in his ornate gold decorated uniform.

  She rose from the tree trunk.

  “I am sorry,” she said, “I forgot the time.”

  “We were worried as to where you could be, my Lady,” the aide-de-camp replied. “Fortunately one of the gardeners saw you taking the steps up the mountains.”

  “I will come down at once,” Tilda assured him.

  She took a last glance towards the couple whom she had last seen kissing each other a long way below her, but there was no sign of them. Then she thought she saw a flutter of Mitzi’s white skirt.

  She could not be certain. It was low on the ground so it might have been a flower.

  Anyway she could not explain that she had been eavesdropping.

  She climbed down to where the aide-de-camp was waiting.

  He took her hand and assisted her down the side of the mountain until they reached the stone steps leading up the hill from the garden.

  “The woods are very beautiful,” Tilda said. “Is anyone allowed in them?”

  “This is a fairly isolated part of the country.” the aide-de- camp replied. “There are no official restrictions on tourists or sightseers, but, of course, His Majesty does not encourage them to come near the Palace.”

  “No. I can understand that,” Tilda remarked.

  She wondered who Rudolph and Mitzi might be. Were they a married couple on holiday? she wondered.

  She thought they must be. An unmarried girl would not be allowed to go wandering in the woods alone with a man.

  And Mitzi seemed very sophisticated.

  Tilda was almost certain that neither her lips nor her hair were entirely as nature had intended them.

  ‘I shall never know who they were,’ she told herself with a little sigh.

  It was like reading halfway through a book and then losing it so that one never knew the end of the story.

  In the coach driving towards Munich, Tilda found herself thinking of the strange tone of Rudolph’s voice when he had said to Mitzi,

  “I want you! I want you!”

  It had somehow vibrated through her in a way that she could not explain.

  She supposed ordinary people, unlike Royalty, spoke in that urgent manner.

  It was certainly a contrast to the flat voices and the words that seemed almost to come reluctantly to the lips of those she had conversed with on her journey.

  They reached Munich to find the hotel was large, impressive and apparently so comfortable that even the Dowager Lady Crewkerne was mollified.

  To Tilda it was an adventure that she had not expected.

  In the streets crowded with people, most of the men were wearing Bavarian dress and a large number of women wore red petticoats, black bodices and white embroidered blouses.

  There were high houses, which looked impressive and, as they drove through Marienplatz, the Professor pointed out proudly the new Town Hall with its steep gables crowned by bell turrets.

  Its enamelled copper figures were one of Munich’s chief attractions and its glockenspiel or carillon was, the Professor boasted, the largest in Europe.

  “If we have time tomorrow, Lady Victoria,” he said to Tilda, “I will take you to the Picture Gallery at the Alta Pinakothek. It is built in the Venetian style of the Renaissance and houses the paintings collected by the Wittelbachs since the sixteenth Century.”

  “I should love that,” Tilda answered enthusiastically.

  “And there are also Churches that you must not leave Munich without visiting.”

  “I like Bavarian churches,” Tilda said. “I love their gay painted carvings. They are very beautiful!”

  “It’s a pity we could not stay at the Palace” the Dowager Lady Crewkerne interposed in a sour voice.

  “I think it’s more fun to stay in an hotel,” Tilda insisted. “We have seen so many Palaces, but no hotels.”

  “Let’s hope our stay will not be a long one,” the Dowager remarked.

  She turned to the Professor.

  “Have you notified His Royal Highness where we can be found
?”

  “I sent a messenger to Obernia this morning before we left Linderhof,” the Professor replied. “I feel sure that His Royal Highness will realise our position.”

  “Let us hope so,” Lady Crewkerne muttered.

  She spoke in a tone that told Tilda she expected the Prince to be too insensitive to understand what she considered a subtle insult.

  ‘Oh dear!’ Tilda thought to herself. ‘It seems as if my new life is starting off on the wrong foot!’

  Personally she did not mind. This would give her an opportunity to see Munich.

  The Professor had been full of its praises about the fine streets, the houses, the museums, the Churches and the University. He spoke about them all as if the City was a paradise for the young and brainy.

  And, of course, he had described the beer halls.

  He had waxed quite eloquent about how, as a young man, the beer halls had attracted him night after night.

  “They were so alive, so amusing,” he had told Tilda. “There were artists who sang. Some were from the opera, glad to earn an extra mark or so and there was dancing.”

  “What sort of dancing?” Tilda asked.

  “Country dancing. The men clap their hands and slap the sides of their leather shorts, the audience claps with them and joins in the popular songs.”

  “It sounds very gay!” Tilda exclaimed.

  “It is gay,” the Professor had agreed, “and there were other performers who would yodel and play the cowbells.”

  “What does that mean?” Tilda had enquired.

  “The leading cow of a herd in Bavaria usually has a bell around her neck so that the cowherd will not lose her. These bells all have a different note”

  “I understand! When they shake them one after another it makes a tune.”

  “Exactly!” the Professor smiled,

  “We have bell ringers in England at Christmas in the country,” Tilda said, “but their bells have handles.”

  “These have just a loop through which a string is passed to hang around the cow’s neck,” the Professor explained. “The men become very proficient at playing tunes of all sorts, even famous ones, on the cowbells.”

  “Oh, I would like to hear them!” Tilda cried, “and most of all I would like to see the dancing!”

  As she spoke, she knew it was something that would never happen, unless, of course, when she was married there was a Command Performance for her and the Prince.

  Now she was in Munich she began to think about the beer halls.

  Supposing – just supposing she could persuade the Professor to take her to one.

  They had dinner in a rather gloomy oak-panelled dining room and as soon as it was over the Dowager Lady Crewkerne rose to her feet.

  “I have a headache,” she said, “and I intend to retire to bed immediately. I suggest. Lady Victoria, that you do the same.”

  “I will, ma’am,” Tilda agreed. “May I just finish my coffee?”

  “Of course,” Lady Crewkerne conceded, “and by the way, I forgot to mention it before, but your maid has a bad cold. As I have no wish for you to catch it just before your entrance into Obernia, I told her to go to bed. One of the hotel maids will help you to undress.”

  “I thought Hannah was looking unwell,” Tilda said. “She hates the movement of the coach. It always makes her feel sick. I think she has had a headache ever since she left England.”

  “Headaches are one thing, a cold is another!” Lady Crewkerne said firmly. “I hope she will be better tomorrow, but she had best keep away from you as much as possible.”

  She paused and then said,

  “Goodnight, Professor.”

  “Goodnight, my Lady.”

  Lady Crewkerne went from the dining room and Tilda, having risen as she left, sat down again.

  “May I have another cup of coffee?” she asked.

  “It will not keep you awake?” the Professor enquired.

  “Nothing keeps me awake,” Tilda answered, “and the coffee is delicious.”

  “Bavarian coffee!” the Professor exclaimed, almost in tones of ecstasy. “Even in the villages you can find good coffee with a great spoonful of whipped cream floating on top of it. It’s delicious!”

  “Do they also have coffee like that in the beer halls?” Tilda asked.

  “But naturally,” the Professor replied, “and they have long high glasses filled with light sparkling Bavarian beer. It is, my Lady, more delicious than champagne!”

  “I would love to try it.”

  “In the Hofbrauhaus,” the Professor went on, “which has a long tradition going back to 1589, there is a great vaulted hall where whole barrels are consumed every day.”

  He saw Tilda was listening with excitement in her eyes and continued,

  “Special beers are brewed for celebrated people and for festivals.”

  Tilda put her arms on the table and bent forward.

  “Listen, Professor,” she said, “why don’t you and I visit a beer hall tonight?”

  “Lady Victoria! You must be joking!”

  “No, I am serious,” Tilda answered. “You have told me so much about the amusing gay beer halls of Munich and I would so love to see one!”

  “I would like to show you one,” the Professor answered, “but you realise as well as I do that it is impossible!”

  “Why is it impossible?” Tilda asked. “Her Ladyship has gone to bed. Hannah is not waiting up for me. Who would know if we crept out, you and I, and went to one?”

  “No – no!” the Professor cried. “It is inconceivable!”

  “It would be very good for my education,” Tilda coaxed. “You see, I think a reigning Princess should know what interests her subjects. It is very difficult to understand these things unless one sees the places they go to, hears the songs they enjoy and watches them dance,”

  “I think you are right in your aspirations, my Lady,” the Professor responded, “As you know, I have always been very liberal-minded. I think all Monarchs are far too isolated from their subjects.”

  “Like the Queen at Windsor.”

  “Exactly!” he agreed. “But it will be up to His Royal Highness to decide how far you can relax the formalities of the old protocol, which keeps Rulers in glass cases.”

  “His Royal Highness does not seem very interested in me at the moment,” Tilda said, “and I should so much like to see a beer hall,”

  “I have told you, my Lady, it’s quite impossible,” the Professor affirmed.

  Tilda sighed.

  “In which case I shall have to go alone!”

  “Lady Victoria!”

  There was no doubt of the shocked astonishment in the Professor’s voice.

  “I will go alone or I will ask one of the waiters to accompany me,” Tilda added. “And after it is discovered and I am asked why I did anything so outrageous, I shall tell them that it was all your fault.”

  “My fault?” the Professor groaned.

  “Yes. You told me about the beer halls. You described how attractive they are, excited me about them and then refused to escort me to one.”

  “Lady Victoria, you are teasing me!” the Professor said. “You often play tricks on me and ever since I have been your teacher you have often deliberately tried to provoke me, but this is going too far!”

  “I mean what I say,” Tilda said. “Either you take me to a beer hall or I go alone.”

  The Professor passed his hand over his forehead. He was sweating.

  “Let’s discuss this logically,” he begged.

  “There is no logic about it,” Tilda said. “I mean what I say. I am not going to miss this opportunity.”

  She gave a little gesture with her hand.

  “When else in my life am I likely to be in Munich again with the chance of seeing something real and exciting? Who will it hurt? Who will it harm? Besides, no one will ever know!”

  “How can we be sure of that?” the Professor asked.

  He was weakening and Tilda kne
w it.

  “I have everything planned,” she persisted. “Just listen – ”

  Chapter Three

  Tilda looked at herself in the mirror with satisfaction.

  For one terrifying moment she had thought it would be impossible for the chambermaid to find the costume she required.

  She had gone upstairs from the dining room leaving an almost incoherent Professor and clutching two gold gulden in her hand.

  “You must give me some money, Professor,” she had said.

  “Money?” he enquired in surprise.

  “You know quite well that I have none with me,” she answered, “and I shall have to pay the chambermaid to find me a Bavarian costume.”

  He looked surprised and she explained,

  “I do not think it would be wise for us to go to a beer hall looking as we do now. I am sure we should appear conspicuous.”

  “You are right, Lady Victoria. Of course you are right, but we should not be going to a beer hall at all!”

  “Now, Professor, don’t let’s begin the argument all over again,” Tilda admonished him. “You have agreed to take me and all I require at the moment is some money.”

  He handed her with obvious reluctance two gold gulden and, as she rang the hell in her room, she waited apprehensively.

  She had not been sure whether or not the chambermaid who would wait upon her would be young.

  There was always the chance that, because the hotel was impressed with the Dowager Lady Crewkerne and herself, it would be one of the older women, who she was afraid would not understand or sympathise with any sort of escapade.

  No one in the hotel knew that she was engaged to His Royal Highness, Prince Maximilian of Obernia.

  The Duke of Forthampton had been insistent that there should be no publicity and no official announcement until Tilda had safely reached Obernia.

  “It might involve you in difficult situations, my dear,” he had said to his daughter. “Journalists are very pushing and impertinent and I would not wish you to be subjected to their questions or indeed their cameras.”

  Tilda had therefore travelled as a tourist, but it was impossible for the inns where they had changed horses, or indeed the hotel where they were staying now, not to be impressed with their coaches, their outriders and in fact the whole entourage.